


Haunt

by lookie (orphan_account)



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Demon!Dan, M/M, Witch!Phil
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-19 19:54:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10646928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/lookie
Summary: Phil is a modern witch working in the morgue as an assistant medical examiner. When given an ancient spell book by his elder, he accidentally summons a demon instead of casting a healing spell. With no way to immediately send him back, Phil decides to help the demon live a mortal life until they can figure it out.





	Haunt

**Author's Note:**

> WOW hi. i think this is the quickest i've ever started a fic. i've only been in the phandom since late december but it's been wild.... dang  
> anyway thanks to my lovely lovely beta amy @writerdan on tumblr. what a sweet bean  
> and you can find me on tumblr @imlovephil if you wanna talk about the fic !! or anything !!

The morgue is always cold. Temperatures can’t be raised above 4 °C lest the bodies start to defreeze. There are no windows because the morgue is deep underground, right underneath the hospital. The sunlight never reaches it and Phil has taken to wearing thick thermal jumpers underneath his white coat, whilst his boss has set up a couple of UV lights in the tiny office, keeping some small plants alive.

His boss, Dr. Morgan Minami, is the chief medical examiner. She’s a short half Japanese/half American woman with honey coloured hair and a soft, round face. She tells stories of her hometown and the common supernatural happenings that would always occur, and Phil listens intently, watching as she removes the spinal cord from a corpse.

Phil is her assistant medical examiner, seven years younger but twice as inexperienced. Morgan is patient with him, though, allowing him enough time to complete tasks yet still keeping him on strict schedule. They clicked immediately with their shared love of the supernatural, sharing experiences over the cold metal tables.

Phil has been cleaning the same tables. It’s nearing 9pm and all he wants is to get home as quickly as he can, put on a face mask, pour himself a glass of wine and watch a good movie.

“You can go home, if you’d like.” Morgan calls from the office. She hasn’t lost her strong Arizonian accent, even after living in London for more than ten years. “I can finish up here, you look pretty beat.”

“Are you sure?” He asks, but his question is answered when Morgan slaps a wet rag on the table opposite him. She looks up, peering at Phil through her glasses.

“Go home rookie. I can handle cleaning tables on my own, surprisingly.”

Phil nods, already shedding his white coat and hanging it up on one of two hooks, one placed significantly higher than the other. He slings his messenger bag over his shoulder as he walks up the morgue steps, calling a goodbye over his shoulder.

Not waiting for his boss’ reply, Phil takes two steps at a time, eyes cast downwards to avoid the harsh glare of the hospital’s lights. He steps out of the automatic doors into the street, readjusting his bag on his shoulder.

 

It’s busy as usual, and Phil lifts his left hand to check his wristwatch. 8:56pm. He bites his lip, glancing down the street for a second before heading the opposite way. Phil makes his way to his destination quickly, with the advantage of being half a foot taller than most people.

He stops in front of a dimly lit shop, old and wooden and creaky when he pushes the ancient door open. The girl behind the counter spares him a quick look before she returns her attention to her book.

“It seems you’re lacking business,” Phil recites, stopping in front of the counter. At this, the girl smiles and puts her book down. Instead, her left hand now occupies a thin piece of engraved wood, she gives it a little flick and the small shop starts to rearrange and expand.

The shelves which normally occupied assorted snacks and drinks are now littered with precariously stacked glass jars filled with herbs, ancient books as thick as a man’s skull and piles of different boxes.

“Good to see you, it’s been too long. Estelle nearly ordered a search party for you.” The girl smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Likewise, Soojin. Anything for me? I’m tired so I can’t stay for long.” Phil replies, watching Soojin tut and roll her eyes before she turns around. She groans as she places a large book on the counter, dramatically dusting off the cover.

“Essie said she’d like you to have this. It’s an ancient herb spellbook. She doesn’t use plant magic and neither do i so it’s useless to us.” Soojin says, pushing it towards him slightly. “Is that all?”

Phil frowns at the book slightly, wondering how he’s going to carry such a large, odd looking thing home with him. “Just a bag of cowslip and fennel,”

Soojin nods, walking out from behind the counter to collect the herbs. Phil rests his hand gently on the old cover, trying to make out the words. They don’t appear to be in English, but he’ll manage. If the oldest witch he knows wanted to give it to him, of all people, she must have a reason.

“Here you go.” Soojin announces, placing the two bags of herbs right on top of his hand. “That’s £7, you know the drill.”

Phil quickly pays, placing the herbs into his bag and tucking the book under his arm.

“Come visit more often, ol’ Essie misses you.” Soojin calls, and when Phil looks back at her, the shop looks like a normal convenience store again.

Phil smiles a little, holding the door open with his free hand. “She’ll exile you if you call her that again.”

At that, Soojin rolls her eyes, leaning on the counter. “You’ve both said that like a thousand times, yet i’m still here. Go home, old man.”

 

Phil doesn’t bother replying, only shoots her a smile that she returns with a grin. The air is colder than earlier when Phil steps out into the street. It’s gotten significantly darker, and Phil curses the fact that time moves so much faster outside the shop than it does inside.

He catches the last train home, book placed in his lap with his bag resting on top. He’s almost vibrating with excitement and nerves at what could be in the book. Old spells, definitely. Spells he’s never encountered before? Probably. Spells that aren’t even legally allowed to be printed anymore. Maybe, just maybe. He trusts Estelle’s judgement that the book ended up in his life for a reason.

It takes all of his self-restraint to place the book on his table and leave it there. Phil stands in the doorway, staring at it for a few long seconds before he turns and heads to his bedroom. His plan was to get changed into something comfy, take care of his skin and relax with a nice drink. That book is not going to ruin his night no matter how tempting it is.

“Did’ja steal that?” A hoarse voice asks when Phil walks back into his living room. He startles for a second when he sees a crow perched on top of the old book, staring at him. “You left the window open.”

“Obviously.” Phil sighs, placing his glass down before collapsing on his sofa. The crow flies over, landing in his hair. He hums as the bird begins to preen strands of his dyed jet black hair. “But no, Merle, I didn’t steal it. Estelle gave it to me.”

“Estelle?” The crow asks, voice scratchy like an old record player. “What’d she think you’d need it for?”

“I don’t know.” Phil replies, and hears wings flapping. He opens his eyes to see Merle standing on the book again, impatiently ruffling his wings and tapping on the hard cover with his foot.

“Well come on then, lazy!” Merle croaks, jumping down onto the table.

Phil sighs, standing up and making his way over to the table where Merle and the book are located. He’s learned over time that the hardest part of being a witch was arguing with your familiars.


End file.
